Category: peru

The day after I came back I slept on my bed, thankful for the comfort of home. The months felt like a dream of sorts. I went out, met people, my life resumed as normal. Some people asked if I thought I changed after my trip, and having met them 1 week after I came back, I shook my head slightly and said ‘I don’t feel very different’. It was not something I was sure how to answer. Someone dear mentioned it again last month, and I thought it was a more nuanced response. I would like to keep it.

: Do you miss sa? Haha

: Do you think it changed you

I replied:

10/16/15, 12:07:10 AM: Siangyee: Hahah well that’s quite hard to say, I can’t say I changed for sure, but I can’t say I think I didn’t change at all

10/16/15, 12:07:23 AM: Siangyee: Cause i don’t remember who I was before?

10/16/15, 12:07:44 AM: Siangyee: But it was an experience that added another tangible layer to my understanding of myself I suppose

10/16/15, 12:08:00 AM: Siangyee: And because these writers put it so much more eloquently

10/16/15, 12:08:13 AM: Siangyee: “It was one of those events which at a crucial stage in one’s development arrive to challenge and stretch one to the limits of one’s ability and beyond, so- that thereafter one has new standards by which to judge oneself.” – Remains of the day

10/16/15, 12:08:23 AM: Siangyee: I feel like this describes the experience best

10/16/15, 12:08:32 AM: Siangyee: And this line jumped out to me on the bus ride

10/16/15, 12:08:55 AM: Siangyee: It just sums it up – the fact that I now have new standards to judge myself

10/16/15, 12:09:09 AM: Siangyee: I suppose in that sense I ‘changed’ because I feel no anxiety for the Balkans

10/16/15, 12:09:36 AM: Siangyee: Whereas before the trip I might have found it intimidating in some ways but the established standards now calm me more?

10/16/15, 12:09:50 AM: Siangyee: “But then eventually the surroundings grew unrecognizable and I knew I had gone beyond all previous boundaries. I have heard people describe the moment, when setting sail in a ship, when one finally loses sight of the land. I imagine the experience of unease mixed with exhilaration often described in connection with this moment is very similar to what I felt in the Ford as the surroundings grew strange around me. ”

10/16/15, 12:10:04 AM: Siangyee: Also from the book which I felt I could relate to when I was reading it on the bus

10/16/15, 12:10:46 AM: Siangyee: So interesting isn’t it hahah the text is based on a different context and yet it’s so deeply relevant to me at that point

10/16/15, 12:11:31 AM: Siangyee: And I guess how I feel / felt about that trip / traveling alone is relatable to

It was good to walk faceless and talk to myself again, to ask where I was going, and who I was, and to realize that I had no idea, that all I could tell you was my name, and not my heritage; my daily schedule for the next week, and not the reason for it; my plans for the summer, and not the purpose I had whittled out for my life. — Sylvia Plath

10/16/15, 12:13:07 AM: Siangyee: Maybe it changes my subsequent actions but I can’t say that for sure either because there’s no large indicator or tangible measurable actions that followed after that trip hahah perhaps a more tangible indicator would be like, going to Africa alone or shaving my head or something hahah but no actions of mine are tangible enough to say that I did change

10/16/15, 12:13:59 AM: Siangyee: I guess we realize changes only after reading back on your past / remembering the person that you were cause it’s very slow very subtle and who’s to say it’s necessarily attributed to that trip

10/16/15, 12:14:44 AM: Siangyee: Best of all though I fulfilled my geographical dreams of the Amazon!!! And favelas!!!! and that’s something more tangible of sorts to me that I’m really really happy about hehe

10/16/15, 12:17:08 AM: Siangyee: I feel like in this stage of my life I’m acutely aware of mortality though and I dk if that’s because of the trip either and the immense fear that I felt before and at some points during the trip and the sense of gratitude that I have for being alive and back, maybe augmented I dk

10/16/15, 12:17:50 AM: Siangyee: ‘The world is no more permanent than a wave crashing on a shore. No matter our struggles and triumphs, however we may suffer them, all too soon they bleed into the wash, just like watery ink on paper’

10/16/15, 12:19:23 AM: Siangyee: I thought it was maybe more amplified after i got back, but then I stumbled upon this post in my archives this morning or yesterday

10/16/15, 12:21:21 AM: Siangyee: “The real problem here is that we’re all dying. All of us. Every day the cells weaken and the fibres stretch and the heart gets closer to its last beat. The real cost of living is dying, and we’re spending days like millionaires: a week here, a month there, casually spunked until all you have left are the two pennies on your eyes.

Personally, I like the fact we’re going to die. There’s nothing more exhilarating than waking up every morning and going ‘WOW! THIS IS IT! THIS IS REALLY IT!’ It focuses the mind wonderfully. It makes you love vividly, work intensely, and realise that, in the scheme of things, you really don’t have time to sit on the sofa in your pants watching Homes Under the Hammer.

Death is not a release, but an incentive. The more focused you are on your death, the more righteously you live your life. My traditional closing-time rant – after the one where I cry that they closed that amazing chippy on Tollington Road; the one that did the pickled eggs – is that humans still believe in an afterlife. I genuinely think it’s the biggest philosophical problem the earth faces. Even avowedly non-religious people think they’ll be meeting up with nana and their dead dog, Crackers, when they finally keel over. Everyone thinks they’re getting a harp.

But believing in an afterlife totally negates your current existence. It’s like an insidious and destabilizing mental illness. Underneath every day – every action, every word – you think it doesn’t really matter if you screw up this time around because you can just sort it all out in paradise. You make it up with your parents, and become a better person and lose that final stone in heaven. And learn how to speak French. You’ll have time, after all! It’s eternity! And you’ll have wings, and it’ll be sunny! So, really, who cares what you do now? This is really just some lacklustre waiting room you’re only going to be in for 20 minutes, during which you will have no wings at all, and are forced to walk around, on your feet, like pigs do.

If we wonder why people are so apathetic and casual about every eminently avoidable horror in the world – famine, war, disease, the seas gradually turning piss-yellow and filling with ringpulls and shattered fax machines – it’s right there. Heaven. The biggest waste of our time we ever invented, outside of jigsaws.

Only when the majority of the people on this planet believe – absolutely – that they are dying, minute by minute, will we actually start behaving like fully sentient, rational and compassionate beings. For whilst the appeal of ‘being good’ is strong, the terror of hurtling, unstoppably, into unending nullity is a lot more effective. I’m really holding out for us all to get The Fear. The Fear is my Second Coming. When everyone in the world admits they’re going to die, we’ll really start getting some stuff done.”

– Caitlin Moran

10/16/15, 12:22:22 AM: Siangyee: and then i read it again (this morning or yesterday) and i just feel like wah ya i really agree so much with it, that the awareness of death “focuses the mind wonderfully. It makes you love vividly, work intensely, and realise that, in the scheme of things, you really don’t have time to sit on the sofa in your pants watching Homes Under the Hammer” and i was pleasantly surprised to know that my jan 2014 self had already started contemplating so

10/16/15, 12:22:27 AM: Siangyee: but i didnt remember

10/16/15, 12:22:50 AM: Siangyee: ” The Fear is my Second Coming. When everyone in the world admits they’re going to die, we’ll really start getting some stuff done.”

10/16/15, 12:23:12 AM: Siangyee: “The more focused you are on your death, the more righteously you live your life.”

10/16/15, 12:25:11 AM: Siangyee: so i guess i kinda realised it was this acute awareness that started creeping in end 2013 i suppose, and not necessarily attributed to my trip, and that when i reflect on the trip i probably gave more credit to it – thinking it changed my thoughts – than it might be worth (though it probably did augment it)

10/16/15, 12:25:48 AM: Siangyee: here ends my answer as to whether i think the trip changed me. TLDR: I think it did in some ways but it’s hard to define change IMO

“I had arrived. I’d done it. It seemed like such a small thing and such a tremendous thing at once, like a secret I’d always tell myself, though I didn’t know the meaning of it just yet.”

– Wild: From Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail, Cheryl Strayed

As hard as it is to acknowledge, it’s my last few days in South America. That’s a really sad statement that took me some effort to type, not melodramatizing (or maybe a bit). It’s just that there’s a part of me that screams, FML, ITS YOUR LAST DAYS IN SOUTH AMERICA. I know it’s going to be difficult to come back, not within the next 5 years (I think) but hm, with my yellow fever vaccination, likely the next decade… There’s still so much to explore. I’m going to miss being surrounded by the Spanish language and being called a señorita and attempting conversations with my half-baked Spanish and feeling myself improving. Listening to Latin American music, learning new words, immersing in new cultures. Of course there’s things I miss back home, I don’t quite take care of my body well in the months. But I think opportunities like this don’t come. In all, I’m glad I stretched this for as long as I could (though, I wish I left earlier now, and f school and extend a few days longer so I could have perhaps gone to Ecuador / Colombia)

==

1.30pm – 1130am – 70 soles Civa economica

In this long and weaving bus ride I know it’s my last one in a long while

I am just not homesick. 2 months is too short.

Listening to the crooning of Latin American singers at the background of the bus

Is it the last day already? Too fast. Not ready to leave. Feels really sad. When I go home I have to continue to listen to music, read Spanish, and so forth.

It’s also quite amazing how much my Spanish has improved. I can now listen to the tv shows and understand glimpses of it, as with songs. Conversations. I can carry conversations with locals, basic but also to some extent useful enough. Such a leap from when I first began. It occurred to me that learning a language isn’t really that hard, how silly I was to have thought otherwise. 2 years ago the self that said ‘I can never do that!’ She was wrong. Paco had said, ‘you know why you can’t? Because of what you just said.’ He was right. She was wrong, and the stubborn adamant self that I am can’t be happier than she’s wrong. Stupid girl.

I think about all the events that led me to this trip – exchange, couchsurfing, Barcelona at that time, making the decision to couchsurf with male hosts, Laura and friends, the conversations we had that planted this idea, and now this idea coming into fruition. The learning, and then the running – I remember one night after my 10km run I thought to myself, I wonder if I’ll ever have a version of myself this dedicated again. I was working for something, and I actually saw myself working for it – I was practicing and expanding my Spanish vocabulary on an active basis, I was running to get ready for my trek, I was working to earn some extra money to fund emergencies and extra gifts. I was working towards something, this trip I conceptualised two years ago. I love that version of myself – I saw someone persistent and someone working, someone chasing for something she wanted and I like it. I hope I always retain a version of that self.

I can just picture myself the next day lying at home, in singapore, on my ‘comfy’ bed, eyes closed and feeling depressed because I was back home. Withdrawal symptoms seeping in. Missing my Spanish and travelling and travelling from one city to another, one landscape to another, one revelation to another. And then I smile, because……… It’s time to plan my next trip, I think to myself as I grin, amused, my grin spreading itself wide across my cheeks.

—

In Lima only for a couple of hours and I hear warnings of ‘peligro‘ around me; I can’t help but feel a little nervous, though I do feel absolutely tranquilo walking around in the day. I asked for directions to the centro and a man advised me to walk in the other direction; I chatted with another guy and he said I probably shouldn’t carry so many things walking around.

In Lima I ate and walked a little, but not a lot, lugging my heavy backpack I now know is 16kg around miraflores. I had encountered miraflores in other cities as well; I now know it’s some sort of city centre, some touristy square. More than that I now think about miraflores as a Spanish word – Mira, look, Flores, flowers. Look, flowers. My brain, interestingly, has started translating words and sentences. Even as I think about things I often find myself trying to translate them. How interesting, immersing myself in this environment and the things it does to me. I like it, I like it a lot.

I walked into a book shop for awhile. I love walking into the book shops here because often I spot a paperback I recognize and I try to translate the words and titles. It’s like a game. Casually asked the lady about getting to the airport, if I need to call a taxi or if I could wave one along the road, since I’ve heard about the express kidnappings and all. She said it was alright, but it was probably better I called one. Another lady agreed, and started calling one for me. It was 45 soles, was I alright? Of course, it was less than 50 and it was my last day, last spending. Then the taxi guy hung up or something, and she couldn’t get others because it was Sunday and all was unavailable / busy, and they advised me to catch one down the road. The lady shopkeeper walked me opposite the street and flagged one down for me, near where a policeman was standing. This driver heard ‘aeropuerto‘ and shook his head. Sunday, I suppose it’s because it’s Sunday. Another cab stopped shortly after. She talked to the cab driver for me – 35 soles. Great! That’s 10 soles difference; that’s 3usd. It’s times like this I wonder about such differences – quite great differences, and almost inevitable differences.

I got in, and shot her a last worried grin before getting in. She nodded assuringly, knowing my fears, and waved goodbye. I sat at the backseat, wondering if I was going to be robbed at my last taxi ride, my last ride in South America. Especially since he had stopped for me with my backpack, rather than my flagging. I mentally wondered how I would feel; alright, my trip had ended, I had barely a hundred soles left, I just needed my notes in my phone, and if I had my sd card they could have the camera. But mostly I guess I’d be fine, because I had done everything I’d wanted. I suppose it’s under these circumstances that I realise I’m fine with losing the replaceables, except my words. They are pretty precious to me, testament to my state of being, my memories. The most invaluable (the irony).

These thoughts took place over a span of three seconds. I laughed nervously (though likely more cheery sounding) before chatting with him about living in Lima, how it was, about Peru, and all I’ve learnt – the Japanese president, cusco, the coca leaves, the altitude, how I was in Machu Picchu and South America and needed to improve my Spanish, how I wanted to go to Columbia and Ecuador and travel more. La playa in el ciudad. We laughed a little along the way and as I felt our camaraderie increased I felt a little more relieved – maybe he would like chatting with me, and maybe this decreases the chances of him driving to a secluded spot to rob me. Lol. I am paranoid, am I not? On hindsight I feel I am paranoid – or am I? Nah, frankly not really, in alternative universes I might have been less lucky. We drove into streets (where one flash of a moment I wondered if I should jump off if it was absolutely secluded) and then out into crowded lanes, and when we drove past the blue sign that said ‘aeropuerto‘ pointing ahead I felt a part of me sink with ease. Hurray! Hurray! I chatted more cheerily after. It’s nice to know I can actually converse a little now, though still not completely understanding at times but managing fine. Being able to ask some questions at least, and getting to know someone, about someone. Think about week 1 and week Now. We reach the airport and I thanked him and got off, stepping into the airport, my final destination in South America. This feeling washes over me.

—

But I love your feet

only because they walked

upon the earth and upon

the wind and upon the waters,

until they found me — Pablo Neruda

Bought Spanish poetry books because I’m certain I’ll be able to read them within a decade. Gonna miss being surrounded by Spanish all the time, gonna miss the Latin American music and feeling reminded of my smallness in the vastness of the world. 😢

I gazed at the person in the mirror. She was a little slimmer than I remembered. As I had expected, and was slightly pleased to say. After all, all that exercise! Looked the same in general, one can hardly tell how transformative the weeks have been.

And has it really been ‘transformative’? Is that the right word? I wasn’t ‘transformed’ – perhaps what I mean is… Tweaked. My life course tweaked a little further from my initial conception of my future prior to my trip. I had plans, future plans of what I wanted to do, where I wanted to go that did not exist prior to those weeks. I now knew I had (not only the ability to, but also) the – confidence? – to do so.

Glanced at the mirror again. Dark circles. I didn’t even care that I was washing my hair in the airport toilet. Or that I was sleeping here. It’s better than a rocking bus. My minimum level of comfort required has dropped, I think. The toilet has toilet paper, and hooks. I couldn’t help but notice how it looked new and shiny. I was happy to be in a developed country again; I suddenly recalled that I could drink from the tap water at ease and for free. Hurray!!

The girl in the mirror looked young, and I was pleased, and proud of her. I was pretty proud of her. When I’m 70 I’m sure I will remember her. ‘Remember how you were when you were 23…?’

—

There is a part of me that is almost delightfully surprised that I didn’t die – I’m alive, i’m alive! There is a part of me that mocks that ridiculous week 1 self that was so scared, and there’s the other part that knows I can think this only because in many ways I got lucky (or is it?) that I’m fine with only scratches from the tree branch. What is danger? This trip calls into question.

Mainly I’m thankful to be alive – and being alive more than ever feels like a great gift, a blessing that I cherish, I really really do. Prior to my trip and during my trip and now after, it is clear that I love life and I’m happy to be alive.

—

Yesterday when I arrived in London I could still hear Spanish everywhere – in Primark, along the streets, I could hear Spanish. And hearing Spanish brings me some sort of wistfulness. It was still nice to be back in a developed country though. I stepped into the toilets of the airport and couldn’t help noticing how bright and shiny it was, and how it had toilet paper. Been a while.

Flying home, my flight home. At the airport I overheard people conversing in Spanish (again). On the plane I felt my ears pop along with the altitude and it reminded me of Peru. I really do miss South America, particularly because it’s so far away and inconveniently inaccessible. I try to picture the next time I return, when I’m older. South America will always be a special continent to me, tremendously special because upon this continent locks the person that I was once upon a time, a version I don’t quite want to lose.

Tucking this chapter of memories into a box to peep into if ever I feel down and defeated

Pinning it onto my chest like a badge of honour I proudly sneak a peak at proudly

Really happy and fortunate because I got tickets to WAYNA PICCHU!!!!
The maximum capacity to go up to Huayna Picchu is 400 people per day divided into two groups of 200 each one.

As one of the 400 people, I must say I’m honoured. – bows –

It was about another hour’s climb though, and I was soaked. Soaked, and my brain was hardly working I think, because all I could think of was mindlessly taking another step up, up… it was quite therapeutic though, that sort of zoned-out feeling.

After 5 days and endless steps I (finally!) reach Machu Picchu, one of the 7 wonders of the world, built during the Inca empire in 1450 – what will always come with the memory of this site will be the days of passing waterfalls, crossing streams and picking wild strawberries, accompanied by the rhythmic clacking of my hiking stick.

How many generations have these stones stood witness to over the decades? Times like this reminds me of the minuteness of our lifespan in the history of the world.

I think it’s very clear and understandable why I love hiking, if one knows my personality

I picture myself walking with nature, a single bubble around myself

Walking with a purpose, a final endpoint

Yet granted with the luxury of Time for daydreaming,

punctuated by the occasional bouts of pain from a blister or a toenail to draw me back to reality

How therapeutic

I can picture my future self, stressed with the need to escape, and turning to this avenue for a breather

You are rewarded so long as you keep moving

I like that idea

(As long as I don’t let myself feel pressured by the imaginary expectations of others)

I woke up at 3am, snoozed till about 3,30am so I could gather at 4am, the meeting time. I clumsily pressed the stop button so my alarm would stop ringing; little did I know it’d be the last of it I’d see (for these few days). Strangely after I was done packing, with contacts only in one eye – the other is too sensitive at this time of the day – I realise I couldn’t find my phone, couldn’t find it anywhere either, not in my bag, not when I went back into the room, thrice. I wonder if it’s because I could see only from my right eye; it’s usually reliable. But i really couldn’t find it – the most likely suspect now is my backpack which I’ve kept in the storage room. Frankly, it does worry me quite a bit, weighing on me since morning. I tried to think what’s the most precious thing I have in it – in its broken state, what it holds of value is some of my photos (though I have more), and most importantly my notes, the ones recorded in my pure state. I hope I get it back. But if I don’t, here’s my past few days: (though it really won’t be the same)

– Puno – Arequipa – cusco

Love cusco and their integration with nature. Walking along the streets, seeing the inca ruins

Poignant reminder that these are real – history’s increasing relevance to me

Stones silently watching, unchanged, as generations after generations slide down the rocks

Pacha mama – ayewashca – coca leaves

San Pedro – it looks for you, not the other way round

Kintu – 3 coca leaves, prayings and offerings

Cerveza – offer first to pacha mama and parents that passed

Mountain sacrifices in the past

Elongated skulls to indicate royalty

President was japanese ???

The sound of the river stream rushing by

The silence of the valleys, of the hills

Coca leaves – something rooted in their tradition, yet threatened to be banned by international bodies that are the ones that deny it.

-Day 1 of Salkantay begins!!

The first day was alright – I don’t remember much (already), but we basically walked uphill a little, then flat. It was alright, easier than Batur.

Woke up at 3+, reached breakfast site perhaps 630++, had breakfast, started our hike at 8?

We reached the tent site at about 1+ or 2pm for lunch; lunch was delicious, had hot drinks and llama meat and avocado with meat in it, and mashed potato – satisfying indeed. After lunch some of us hiked up to the lagoon; about an hour to 1.5hrs up. Optional, I went because it was only 3pm and I was far too restless to let my day end like this; The day hike was surprisingly short. Did 6 hours really pass by?? Didn’t feel like it.

We stopped several times on the way, I thought my guide’s pacing was good, it was manageable. We were well rested. I realise I like hiking alone, with my own space, like a bubble. Just me walking relentlessly, my feet upon nature, with the grandeur of the mountains next to me, the sound of the running stream, my stick clacking in rhythm as I slowly ascend. Me and my head, me and my thoughts. It’s therapeutic.

I suppose what I like is simply blanking out and letting my mind wander. Maybe that’s why I like long bus rides where I can dawdle and do nothing.

By the time I got down, sat on the grass and chatted a little with the girls in my group, and came back it was about 6. Served popcorn and biscuits for tea break, then served dinner shortly after. Life is good.

I love sleeping in a tent. In a big, spacious comfy tent. I suppose I associate it with a bubble around my World. I can listen to the world outside, but I can reside happily, anonymously, in mine.

About 545pm – my first night of the salkantay trek ends.

I’m actually a little nervous about tomorrow’s 21km if I let myself think about it. The supposedly ‘hardest’ day. But then I think about Agung and I think, can it really be harder than that??? Batur and agung?? I still take Agung as one of the best things I’ve done in life.

I also had a thought last night: when I was showering I heard some knocking above me. Frankly, it scared me because it was dark, and the shower curtain was around me, reminding me of a movie scene. But later I asked myself, alright, what’s the worst that can happen, I shall just keep calm. After all, I’m alive, and no matter what that’s the most important – that I’m alive. In that sense I’m more afraid of humans now, I really am. It’s another mark of growth

—

Day 2: Supposedly 21kmThis was supposedly the toughest day of the trek.

It wasn’t, though. I was pretty nervous after reading the reviews, but.. the expectations I suppose, made it more manageable than i expected. The toughest part was the optional bit, where we could hike for another hour up to see a lake. Some people rested in their tents for that bit. It was, however, a gorgeous day.

Photos from days 2 / 3:

The lake!

Day 3

Sat on the roof of the truck and got scratches

— 345 took bus to hor springs

On the bus – they were playing all these music in the car

And we rolled along the side of the mountain

Pass waterfalls, pass streams

Everyone singing along

I thought, how do I freeze this moment?

I thought about how my trip was ending, I was down to my final few days in South America

When am I coming back? How do I feel this way again?

I know there’s many things that contribute to the way I feel that I can’t get back in the future

My age, my milestone

My first

My youth, my freedom

My lack of responsibilities

Could I really backpack Central America when I have a family? Central Asia? Africa? I had all these plans that I formulated in the lpst months

In 5 years’ time I would do a big trip, I decided

Already I have decided

Nicely planned, by then I’ll have finished my bond with a bonus to spare

5 years!!!!!!

And when I’m back I’ll cook my Singaporean dishes well, know how to formulate an app, desserts and calligraphy

I was so young, and I’m glad I’m actually so young–

Day 4

Night 3 we had a ‘party’ with inca tequilas and Latin American music

I woke up at 2am to the moanings coming from the tent next to mine. And erm. Jamie unzipping my sleeping bag and crawling into mine. I’ve heard stories of hostel sex and all, but this was quite a first – unabashed, almost. Amused, I tried to sleep, but was occasionally awaken by the noise. Eventually I fell asleep and morning came, and Jamie woke up surprised to find himself here.

Day 4 was lovely. And came so quick. Day 4 morning we had a birthday cake because it was Christina’s birthday. She had taken leave from her work to come on this trek, her 47th birthday gift. I think about the story Andre told us, about how the couple had climbed all the way up to the sun gate and the mum had a box with the ashes of her son. Machu Picchu is such a.. Special place, a sacred place, and one that holds such unique meanings to people, where people from all over the world come to possibly fulfill one of their dreams, to see the world-famous ancient ruins. It’s quite amazing, when one thinks about the number of tourists the stones have stood witness to. Inca trail requires booking more than 4 months in advance. Really.

Day 4 morning was zip lining. I went with another tour company – the one the trek was advertising seemed reliable m, with their equipments which they tout as of certified excellence, and costs 90 soles (~30usd) for 5 ziplines. Not sure how much I paid with Loki hostel. I reached my zipline site a little nervous, augmented by the fact that a nervous British girl was saying how this looked so disorganized and old compared to what she had in Costa Rica. After a short explanation the first lesson went down, then eventually me. See everytime I get so nervous i question myself – WTF am I doing and who is this person, why I am doing this, why – first zipline I put my left hand on top of the lock, then my right, and with a slight nudge I was off, swinging along a single cable, my legs dangling above the rocky stream below, along the valleys, I closed my eyes then I opened and stared in amazement then I closed again and then I opened again and I was there at the other end

Squealing with breathless excitement inside

I clambered upwards for my second zipline

The instructor grinned, that was good yes? Yes it was, mis primers vez, I said, beaming

Second one, I flew above the trees, the valleys

It felt awesome

Third one they called for ‘superman’ volunteers, so I did

I had to lean forward and tuck both legs between his

This time I couldn’t hold on to the cable, so that was scary

But this was of course the best

Because I was like a bird

Looking down on the view

Could flap my hands if I wanted

I suppose this is the closest I’ll be to skydiving

It felt really great, I can still remember the view

And then I reached the end

5 ziplines, drove back, drove to hydroelectric place, had lunch

Hiked 3 hours more to aguas calientes along the train tracks

I had read about this, I thought

It was a therapeutic walk, carrying my things and just walking nonstop on an almost flat plane

I liked that bit

Lunch at 1244pm

3 hours up

4 hours down today

Total = 7 hours

43km

Came down at about 440

—

If you ask me, I would much rather lie in bed and think of you

So I get those feelings and tinglings

I wonder if you think of me as much as I think of you

—

It comes in random moments, but particularly when the music plays

I suppose with music the mood carries with it that tinge of infinity, freedom and fleetingness, all meshed into one ball that tickles the corners of my heart

It comes, the knowing that every moment that passes is my final moments in this place

I feel – should I say I feel terribly sad? I feel terribly sad, but not ‘terrible’ – I feel sorrowful, but not ‘sorrowful’ – I feel sad, but sad is not the word apt for it. I’m not quite ready to leave. I want to add that ‘but I am’, and I realise i really am not. I could stay a month more or two, or three, or four, I’m certain. There’s still so much I’ve yet to see. When I go back this chapter closes, and another of mine begins.

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DAY 5:

Today was the hardest for me. It was steps, endless steps, and I couldn’t go up the steps relentlessly without stopping. That’s normal I know, but there’s a part of me that’s frustrated at myself, like why can the rest go up without stopping and I can’t? It makes me feel weak…….

Eli said it was considered a hard trek. I feel like I don’t know, because I have only done Agung to set the standard. I think in general it was alright, I could do tougher.

I counted 1645 steps

I was so excited when I saw this signTomorrow I would be seeing:

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Other things and memories I love about the trek:

I like the flowers / I love the daffodils / I like the mountains / I love the rolling hills 🎵 I also like avoiding passing horses, grazing cows and the occasional mud-splashing truck with my (now) blistered feet. In harmony with Pachamama, soaking in the Andean history and philosophy

At the Inca ruins a family slides down the stones. How many generations have these stones witnessed already? Did the children of the Inas slide down these rocks as well? The site is once again a poignant reminder of how history and places are fixed, and generations and generations slip by. I didn’t register this in Easter Island, strangely enough. I suppose it could be because I read up more of the Incan history and so started picturing these. Also, I recall the mummified body of the child offering to the mountains, a salient reminder of its existence.

Peru business tip 101: carry your baby llama around and call out for señoritas to take pictures with you!

I am actually noting this down, because i do recommend them. The guide was funny, and she was a guide whose English I could finally understand :p and obtain some insights about the place we were visiting.

omg. this ice cream, made of some cactus milk. tasted amazing, and yes it had that cactus taste. i loved it. so much!!!!

love these details

i feel some sort of affection for this photo and am always amused when i look at it because both of them are like ‘meh IDGAF’ LOL

look at these striations

Colca Canyon – nothing much, just another canyon. I do sound meh about it – i didn’t quite want to go, because I had seen similar landscapes and I (am sure!! I ) will visit the Grand Canyon someday; i still went anyway, though it wasn’t part of my plan. It was pretty interesting I suppose. I thought about the human sacrifices for the mountains, how people of the past may have walked the walk I am walking today. At one point she showed us the ‘tomb’ amidst the mountain, the terraces, and the rock; 3 different time periods, the environment bore evidence of 3 different time periods and ways of living in this place. See, we are so.. it’s like nature remains unchanged, almost, landscapes hardly change in centuries. But generations and generations of people like Me. And they quietly bear witness to it. Stories, repeated.

Notes: (yes, i take NOTES on many of these tours 8-))

Apu Andean gods

Human sacrifices to calm the volcanoes

List of requirements:

Impt family

Young

Completely healthy without sickness

Complete smile

Handsome or pretty

Most importantly, to be virgin

Children 3-12 common offers

1995 project to study offers in mountains –

Most Impt offer is a girl 12 year old

Walk for days to inca

Three more days

Die there

Sacred Exp with mountain

Drink special drink

Probably my favourite, though it’s darkened quite a lot by now.

I took two – I gave them the first, this was the second. I wonder how that turned out. And what they did with it.

“Arequipa (Ariqipa (Quechua)) – a magnificent “white city” is located at an altitude of 2325 m in the southwestern part of the Country; between the coastal area of the coastal desert and the spurs of the western Andes. It possesses a series of volcanic cones such as “El Misti”, “Chachani”, and “Pichu Pichu”. This beautiful city is practically completely built out of sillar, a type of white volcanic stone. This is why Arequipa is called the White City (“la ciudad blanca”). It is a magnificent example of colonial architecture. The historic centre of Arequipa was named a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 2000.

Arequipa is located on the tectonic fracture of the Earth’s crust called “Ring of Fire” (“cadena del fuego”), known for its high frequency of volcanic eruptions and earthquakes. The last several strong earthquakes were in 1958, 1960 and 2001.”

Bus from Puno to Arequipa with Cruz del Sur – 40 soles. Cheap and comes with a meal. I bought it from the counter on that same morning. Turns out bus to Cusco has a strike.

Impressed with bus – they have a pre-trip video safety instructions while introducing their facilities. Like an aero plane. Even a reading light, and a button to call for assistance. Apparently they monitor each bus using a satellite system. Serious?!?

Welcome to Arequipa!!! Or Arearearearrrrrrrquipa! (the bus companies tout)

Aww. Rather calm and peaceful! This picture pretty much conveys how I feel about the city. So much calmer than what I experienced in Cusco / Lima / Puno.

i took a picture of this because it was constructed hundreds of years ago.

The Monastery of Saint Catherine (Monasterio de Santa Catalina)

Santa Catalina Monastery was built in 1579/1580. The monastery was expanded over the centuries until it became a city within the city, about 20000 sq./m. It is still functioning as a place of worship. At its peak, the monastery housed 450 nuns and their lay-servants, and was closed off from the city by high walls. There are approximately 20 nuns currently living in the northern corner of the complex.

i felt a little creeped out to be honest. in my head i was thinking, WHY am i here in this monastery. am i really interested in the ways the nuns lived. i started picturing them with their black veils sitting on this chair. and then i hurried out.

i took this picture because i noticed the hat. i wonder if there were figures like these with hats in the churches of other countries, or if this was uniquely tied to their local historical cultural aspects.

mmmm

a volcano this close. like, just at the side of the city. i stared at it for awhile. i wonder if they feel any form of trepidation at all, living this close. hmm. or i am too used to and too sheltered by Singapore’s almost-perpetual safety. this was an aspect i failed to consider in my thesis – the fact that Singapore is so safe it augments the danger in all parts of the world. re: natural disasters

The Incas believed in worshipping the mountains and children were offered as sacrifices. They walked for miles (chewing coca) for weeks.

I feel like… in this trip it hit me that the history of mankind stretches on a timeline so incredibly far back. it’s one of the things i already know, but it just sank in, like a stone at the pit of my stomach, the fact that this history existed and the Incas once ruled an empire so grand it stretched from the Andes to the Amazon, and they believed in gods that my pre-trip self would have dismissed. How our notions of gods has shifted, from nature and mountains and condors to Christ and others today. Culture and beliefs and norms are always changing, ever-changing in the timeline of history.

They spoke about the Incas throughout South America – i just kept hearing references to the Incas (or at least the later part, which is highly influential to my memory)

The Incans didn’t have a writing system. Can you imagine that? Not having a writing system? How do you record your stories? Your memories? Letters?

They had runners – they formed a relay system, messengers who carried messages from one place to another, from Cusco to Quito it took about 10 days, across bridges and slopes and stone pavements. Having climbed all the way up to Machu Picchu I can only say they are insanely fit. Gosh, I am ashamed.

“While scholars have yet to translate the quipu, we do know that information was embedded in the quipu in a number of different ways. The strings in a quipu were dyed in many different colors, and the strings are connected in many different ways, with a wide variety and number of simple and complex knots. Together the type of wool, the colors, the knots and the joins hold information that was once readable by several South American societies. Today we have only an inkling of what stories these amazing threads might be holding for us.”

“The latest in a long history of South American societies to use the technique, the Inca empire used quipus to communicate a wide variety of political, economic, genealogical and other kinds of information to keep their enormous empire working. According to 16th century historians such as Inca Garcilaso de la Vega, quipu were carried throughout the empire by relay riders, called chasquis, who brought the information along the Inca road system, keeping the Inca rulers up to date with the goings on in their farflung empire”
I’m just so blown over by the Incan history, it could be this age or something (since i did learn about the history of civilisations back then but it just didnt register)

The Incas have never seen humans on animals prior to the invasion by the Spaniards, which could be a partial reason for the success of the Spanish conquest

What was Singapore like during the time of the Incas? Who lived here? Did it exist? I don’t even know. Hundreds of years later people / scholars are going to study our society and our ways of living. Maybe this blog will serve as an artefact. LOL. That’s a pretty cool thought HAHAHA

It sounds so crazy and morbid but I feel like I appreciate my life so much more now, now that I’m back, and I just know I’ll never take actions to disappear from the earth no matter how tough things get. I feel so thankful everyday for being alive. This could be partially attributed by the fact that I’m in lala-land, the first weeks of school (we’ll see during practicum) but whenever I feel crappy I think about how simply being alive is such a blessing. It’s such a nice thought, to know I feel like that. I truly hope I’ll still feel like this in my older days. But for now, this life is short, and this life is a blessing.

I mean, it’s times like this again I realise that I learnt and I just want to go back again to learning about everything, not in theory not on papers and pages (though they have their merits) but learning from everything around me

Off to Cusco! HURRAY! Highly anticipated, and the last activity-filled city. At last.

Departure Tax 2.50soles –

I took this bus called (Exclu)Civa from Arequipa to Cusco, and it was awesome. The seats were the most comfy I’ve had. I thought Cruz del Sur was the best, but i heard this company is pretty comparable. In fact this one is more comfy than the Cruz del Sur I took from Puno to Arequipa. 80 soles, i paid.

James, the Columbian guy I met on my Colca Canyon tour, apparently paid 120soles for his ticket (the exact same as mine) which is worth 80 soles. The tour agency ate some I suppose. Mine didn’t, hehe. I guess you have to be careful which company you buy from.

The orange bus that I boarded near the central of the town drove for about 10mins to the Bolivia-Peru border. The driver explains what we have to do: firstly get off and get your passport stamped at the Bolivian border. Then walk about 300m down to the Peruvian border to get stamped again. I had read online to carry my backpack with me when crossing border, and this morning my hostel owner had told me the same. With such clear warnings there’s no way my backpack was leaving me.

After reaching the Bolivian border the bus was changed from the orange to a black one, so the driver started shifting luggages over.

I carried my backpack with me, and I noticed so did some other backpackers. Some passengers asked the driver, es seguro? The driver had a brief frustrated dialogue with one of them – nobody is going to steal your mochilas, he says. It’s just normal to be careful, the backpacker replies. The driver semi- rolls his eyes. I get it, but I get both perspectives. I’m still carrying my backpack with me.

Got stamped at Peruvian border and waited for the bus to come.

Put my backpack in the luggage deposit space this time. I noticed 2 backpackers brought theirs on too, that made me a little worried. Ah well, here’s hoping for the best, we’ll see in a couple of hours.

border crossing – bolivia-peru

It’s really funny, because a few months ago I remember telling my friends, this was going to be the last big trip now – I just needed to get it out of my system, get it over and done with, and then go on to my simple life. This big trip to know I can do it, and I’m done. At this point I know it’s clearly not the case (at all, lol! I should have known) – if anything, this is the beginning of something bigger. I don’t know what it is and what it will be, but I know that time will come – maybe when I’m 27, or 30, or 60 when I’m retired. That made me excited and happy.

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Copacabana – Peru – 30 bs

I arrived in Puno at about 11.30am. (Or 1230 Bolivian time – Peru is an hour earlier.)

This lady approached me to give me “tourist information” – many of them do that, I realise – I still went anyway, wanting to know what she offered. The pamphlet on the table showed 35s for the tour, I bargained to 25. She said yes immediately, so I hesitated. (Yes I do that hahah) and said I’ll go elsewhere and think about it. She followed me for awhile, telling me where I can go in Puno. Finally I got it for 25soles. = 8$

Hmmmmmmm

Shucks, suddenly realise I can actually go myself. I guess I was eager because the tour was at 4pm, I had time to explore Puno as a town, go to Uros, then come back and take the bus to Arequipa. Woohoo!!

views en route to Puno

peruvian kids in school hehe

walked around for awhile, spotted the local market

they had this wall where everyone pasted notices on.

ALFAJORES! So good, lingered with caramel on flaky bits and sugar icing powder on top